Drowning In Koi Pond
by Beyond An Anomaly
Summary: A lot can happen in thirty days, especially in this agency. Every day, it falls deeper and deeper into the mysteries and horrors of the webs of its past and the rising threats of the present...and here I am to write about it all in the midst of the elite. Here I fall...and so will they.
1. The Acceptance

**_Any Sonic characters and places mentioned belong to SEGA, 2015. Only one character in this story belongs to me, and it won't be too hard to find them._**

 ** _This is really my first major stab at a serious series; it's all about GUN, its antics, and its agents trials and tribulations in the eyes of an aspiring journalist. (A Sonic OC. Oh my.)_**

 ** _Hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading, and any and all feedback is highly welcomed, praise or critique. Thank you for your consideration with this story, and I hope you enjoy Drowning In Koi Pond._**

 ** _-BAA_**

* * *

" _All good writing is swimming underwater and holding your breath."_

 _-F. Scott Fitzgerald_

-(*)-

It has been said that writing takes you on a journey you will never forget.

I can highly vouch for this statement.

The white bat I rode with held her leader with tears streaming down her face as she screamed for help. Her suit was tattered, and her face was mottled with soot and the blood of both her and the hedgehog in her arms, who was fading all too quickly. Their artillery fired at nothing, at the threat that couldn't be touched.

The bastard that allowed me to come here roared for an explanation, and with the pager in my hand, all I could do was stare at what I had caused. All I needed was a story, and damn did I get it.

Sirens blared in the distance, and Rouge tried to wail over them, imploring them to come. But no one did. Omega fired a flare in the midst of the destruction, the flames. No one answered to it. And Shadow?

"Shadow? Come on, come on…"

She couldn't believe it.

No one came for him.

All I could do was stand in the smoky twilight and observe, and my, my, my.

What a mesmerizing journey this was that I, the journalist, could spread for miles in this endless ocean of explosions, while the relief and the help stayed at bay.

I could never forget how it all began.

(*)

While waiting for the doors to open, I gazed at the koi pond in the front yard. Every now and again, a fish would come up to the surface to blub for air, only to whoosh downward into the murky depths of the pond. It was twilight, and every flick of a silvery fish's tail was mesmerizing, especially in the reflection of the stars.

The pond was infinite, as far as I was concerned.

"I see you've noticed my koi pond. Peaceful, aren't they? Those fish…"

My head immediately turned back towards the doorway, where I saw the man, perfectly still as the brick that held his mansion together, welcome me into his home. The fish swam through my mind as I hesitantly accepted the invitation.

When I stepped through the double doors of the GUN commander's abode, my joints immediately loosened after days and months on end of cramming themselves into a small three-by-three cubicle in a stuffy, loud printing press that reeked of cigar smoke and was stuffed to the brim with the incessant clamoring of keyboards and a solitary fax machine. I did, however, walk stiffly through the entrance, clenching my hands around the ends of my jacket with pure intimidation.

"Follow me," the commander's different-colored eyes glinted against the chandelier above us, his broad jawline shadowing the rest of his neck. I nodded quietly, afraid the sharpness of his gaze could fatally kill me at any second.

He walked ahead of me without a hair out of place. Steady pace, almost like a march, silently conducting me to do the same along the polished maple. One step a second. Left, clop. Right, clop. I mimicked him in the hopes of blending myself in, even though, with my rugged jacket and khakis that barely treaded the line of formal, I stood out like a sore, infected, profusely bleeding hand in the middle of the stoic elegance of the commander's mansion.

Along the way, he went on about how he loved his little pond. I think. I zoned out due to the blinding, surreal atmosphere.

We stopped in his dining room after a trek through riches. The ceiling was taller than life and the floor expanded into walls adorned with deep reds and golden frames, family members that never lived here. The table was roughly five feet horizontally, topped with two bowls of salad, a cup of tomato soup, and two pieces of garlic bread to pair each meal on a saucer. He left me to sit on the right end of the table. Gesturing at the side, he said, "I already set up everything. Sit."

I glanced at him, turning to the left side of the table. I quietly took my seat, peering down at the bottomless abyss of lettuce and onions.

"I don't believe in animal slaughter," he explained as I gingerly lifted up my fork, "I've been a vegetarian since I was a child. Personal choice. I do hope you don't mind it."

With a furrowed brow, I shook my head at him. The fact I could step into his mansion alone made me not at all mind the fact I wasn't having angus that night.

"I have some balsamic right here," he lifted up a bottle that was positioned right next to a shining bottle of merlot, "Do help yourself to it."

He poured some in his salad, mixing it afterwards with his fork softly, soundly. I pricked my fork inside the salad, able to obtain some carrot strands. I nibbled with simple delight.

After placing the bottle down, the commander picked up the merlot, tipping the bottle over an empty wine glass that was before his bowl of soup and let the wine flow in like a gentle river. Nothing about him was messy, and his actions, albeit simple, were straighter than blades.

"Care for some?" the commander held the bottle towards me, displaying it like a waiter to his guests.

 _Holoska Dawn, 20XX_

I shook my head, explaining how I couldn't drink.

"Oh, that's right," he appeared, for the first time, embarrassed as I reached for a water pitcher, "I forgot you were seventeen. Forgive me."

Once more, I assured him I was fine. Calmly, I raised my glass, as he raised his; I believe I lost tension when the commander first proved he was a human and, in fact, not a robot.

"Cheers," he stated warmly, and we both took a sip of our legal beverage of choice. The food was nowhere near as glamourous as the abode, but it was filling all the same. The carrots were delectable at least. The commander ate he prepared, but instead drank the fermented juice of Holoska.

"I still have your letter," the commander, after a few minutes of one-sided silent dining, took out a slip of paper from the front pocket of his uniform shirt. "Why I invited you to join me for dinner tonight."

That letter.

 _To Commander Abraham Tower,_

 _I'm writing to politely inquire if I may write about the Guardian Unit of Nations for a story that's due in just a little over a month. I've just started on the field and am fresh out of the academy, only seventeen years of age and had graduated top ten percent of my class, and my fellow journalists still believe that I don't have any business in the field. I hope that, through this story and your brilliantly courageous guidance, that I may prove them wrong._

 _I, along with several citizens of the United Federation, have acknowledged the power and selflessness of your agency, whose agents put their lives on the line daily for the sake of protecting the president and his citizens. Not many, however, are familiar with the rigorous lives of the agents and what they must live with._

 _Which is why I am writing this to you. I would hope to join some agents in your organization for approximately one month and document their endeavors in the hopes of capturing the lives of the people who save us all everyday from potential destruction, embrace their history and admire their work even further. No one in this press will have ever done anything like this, and, frankly, this is my last chance to show my editor and my colleagues that investing in me, a "rookie" fresh out of school, is not a mistake._

 _You have said in your memoir that, "…in order to change the world for the better, you must first change the game." That is what I plan to do._

 _I hope you may reply to me at your earliest convenience, and I'll be honored by any reply I may receive._

 _Warm regards,_

 _Sterling the Raccoon_

 _Opal Printing Press, 56th District, Westopolis, 56-7_

 _August, 34XX_

It took me five days to write and edit and throw away and rewrite that letter.

It took him one to reply with a dinner invitation.

The next week, there we were, on opposite ends of the table, of anxiety. My feet were tapping spastically, while he was slowly morphing into a statue.

"So," the commander swirled the glass in his hand, calmly asking, "You want to follow my agents for a month on the field?"

I nodded quickly, biting my lip as I did. This was an intimidating man. He lead the agency for over twenty years, and the agency itself had the darkest history imaginable. A history of scandal, of corruption, of conspiracy, of murder.

Murder.

Silence.

His glance.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

It could kill me at any moment.

I noticed that I only spoke three times since I stepped through the doors: quickly saying hello, quietly expressing my gratitude for his welcome, and murmuring why I couldn't partake in merlot. Hesitantly, I let out a stifled chuckle and shook my head. He smiled a smile that promised comfort, yet I still felt needles were jabbing my mind, and it wasn't just the incessant, piercing ramblings of a fax machine that echoed in my brain.

"Well," he promised, "There's no trouble with that. You're a writer. That's how you get your words out," he softly chuckled after taking a sip of his wine, "At least you get them out somehow."

I tried to direct my focus to somewhere else. Carrots. I picked up my fork and made it serve as a shovel. Yeah, yeah, carrots are good.

"So I've thought over your letter this past week," he slowly took a sip from his glass as I stuffed my mouth with the salad. It tasted like nothing. I felt my stomach curl in its emptiness, and I sputtered when he finished with, "And I believe something can be arranged."

I stared at him. His eyes.

They actually looked warm. Inviting. The romaine had an extremely difficult time going down; I forgot there was soup on the table.

"I know what it's like, being the underdog and having something to prove," he snickered, looking off into memories. The soup might as well had been a brick of ice, and, in a way, I wish it was so I could knock myself unconscious with it. "Hell, six years in the academy and they offered me a janitorial position at the agency before even considering me qualified to be an agent. I worked all too hard to prove that I was above scrubbing floors of agents who I saw slack in their classes, if they even went to them, anyway,"

Chuckle. I gulped every time he did.

"So it does warm me up a little whenever I see a young aspirer with something to prove to his superiors," the commander noted, "And you seem ambitious enough. Collected. Know exactly what to do."

Haha. Right. Collected, I was. Meanwhile, I was attempting to lift up my glass, and for two solid seconds of time, I forgot how to drink water. Even his support made me weak, and it was amazing that he didn't notice how truly terrified I was that any of this worked.

"Here's what I'll have you do," he took out three cards from his front pocket, each uniformly cut in a crisp, sharp rectangle. "Tomorrow, come to the agency, and I'll have you meet three agents of mine. Best in the field, each having extensive knowledge of the agency and what we do, and know very much of both our allies and our adversaries. They're highly experienced, respected, and should tell you and show you what you'll need to know. I would be surprised if you didn't already know them."

In one swift motion, he took the cards and put them face-up, sliding them across the table towards me. In an abrupt slam, I put the glass down, with my eyes widening at each card. They were agent ID's that were too fantastical to be just ID's.

* * *

 _E-123 Omega-#11243_

 _Artillery of "Team Dark"_

 _UF, District 56, Station Square Division_

* * *

 _Rouge the Bat-#11237_

 _Co-Leader/Correspondent of "Team Dark"_

 _UF, District 56, Station Square Division_

* * *

 _Shadow the Hedgehog-#11240_

 _Squad Leader of "Team Dark"_

 _UF, District 56, Station Square Division_

* * *

Next to each description was a picture of each, from the shoulder upward. The first had not but two large, red headlights beaming directly at the camera, the second had a playful smirk, and the third had slim to no emotion at all. They were staring.

Staring at me.

Carrots tasted awful.

The air turned into a single axe that swiped my head clean off, and the elegant, all-too-giving world around me started to fade away.

Feeling like a fish out of water, I drowned in disbelief. Down, down, down I went.

"Son?" the commander stood up, and, in a haze, I saw him quickly pace around the table towards me. "Are you alriiii…"

Drowning.

How mesmerizing it all was.


	2. The Rejection

Nightmares plagued me before I came to.

Fax machines turned into the maniacal laughter of journalists. The editor threw my story out the window, papers flying into the endless depths below. His cigar smoke billowed from his nose with every cackle and choked me. I had to run.

Bolting out of Opal, I panted and coughed, feeling the smoke have the same effect as arsenic. I turned around and found I was being chased. By journalists. Promising journalists.

They already came to the conclusion I wasn't.

The jeering got louder and louder as I sprinted left, then right, then right again, crossing roads and skidding along the sides of dilapidating buildings. After one more turn, I get cornered in an alleyway.

They catch up, reaching for me, nails gripping my chest. Repetitions of my lack of worth ring through the stampede. I fall down. I drown. Forever.

They still blubber their hatred. Sounds distort but echo in water. So cold, so cold.

"YOU HAVE: ONE UNHEARD MESSAGE."

I woke up from the immersion to find myself on the surface of my couch. The monotone, robotic voice repeated the message until I groggily walked towards the phone. I was too tired to ask rhetorically how I ended up back at my dingy apartment after spending the evening before in luxurious confinement. Pressing the red button to play the message, I stood before the machine, hunched over. The breeze of the whirring ceiling fan swooshed around dust as the message played.

"Hello, Sterling."

My eyes widened.

"This is the commander. I do hope you are well after your spill from last night and got some rest. I drove you home after your fall and let you in with the key under your mat."

I grumbled, scratching my side. Smacking my lips, I moseyed over to the depressing clock that dangled on a depressing nail in my depressing apartment that wasn't the commander's mansion. 11:12. With my one question I didn't even ask answered, the commander continued.

"Now, as I said last night, I do hope we may get started today. We can go over your guidelines and I can introduce you to the agents that will be escorting you for the next month."

Gulping hard, I felt the acceptance come once more like a wave. It worked. Oh my goodness gracious me.

"And I hope to meet with you at 11:30. No later."

11-OH NO.

I flicked my head to the clock. Four minutes passed.

I had fourteen minutes.

Noticing I was wearing the exact same clothes as the night before, I almost screamed, darting to my crammed closet for something to hold a candle to the illustrious suit I was donning. Dug one hand in. Jeans. Dug in the other. A slightly different jacket from what I was already wearing.

Good enough for someone who was minutes away from potentially missing the best his short-lived career was ever going to be.

Sliding the articles of clothing on, I sprinted out the door of my apartment, haphazardly jumping into a nearby pair of strewn sneakers and snatching my hat and satchel as I went around the corner. Was there more of the message? Like I knew. My bike was below and I was already planning out the shortest way to the headquarters in morning traffic.

Pedal left, right, left, right, exhale, exhale, almost-vomit, wheeze. I put in perspective how crooked every part of me was, even at my age. Cubicles do things to you no matter the age, I surmised. Joints popped, organs churned. If I looked at any analog or digital clock, including my own watch, I wouldn't be able to mentally recover.

The HQ was in view, its grey dome visible through trees and its logo peeking around passerby. The flag of the United Federation blew wildly above, and that was my one guide when every civilian in all of Mobius took up the exact street I was attempting to use as a ramp. I wanted to die. Just.

GOTTA GO FA-

"Slow down, kid!"

DIE.

Fourteen irate idlers, two police officers, and a trampled traffic cone later, I finally arrived at the GUN bike rack. Practically tossing my bike into an empty space and not worrying how secure it was, I glanced at my watch like the idiot I was.

Oh Chaos.

Five minutes.

I bolted through the double doors of the headquarters, peering around the sea of agents who were about to go to lunch and leisurely planning to do so. Finding the receptionist, I was pointed to the direction of the commander's office. Up.

And her nails went right back to clicking away on the keyboard; she purred that it was on the top floor.

I wouldn't have had it any other way in the stellar luck I had in my commute. Go big or go home. I wished for the latter, but I got the former instead.

Another glance. Two minutes.

CHAOS.

Heading to the nearest elevator like it was my only method of survival, I ran into one man with a venti coffee cup but immediately bolted from the encounter; the obscenities towards me from said man echoed through the corridor towards the elevator, so I could only assume he got a second degree burn. He was fired up, anyway.

But there was no time for puns. Less that a minute.

OHCHAOSOHCHAOSNONONONONONO

And I had my own obscenities.

Tapping my foot, I waited and counted and waited and waited how many floors did this building have oh fifty-two is that not dandy I hope all of my tax dollars went to constructing this ridiculous building who needs fifty-two floors anyway?!

With all this rambling, I wanted to just cry. I looked at the watch.

11:30 by the time I got to the final floor.

The biggest story I was to ever write, and I was late even starting it. They'll hate me. They'll kill me. Nonetheless, I had to accept my fate. The door opened, and my mind spun to infinity.

They were probably talking about how late I was. My irresponsibility. How I absolutely wasn't worth the ti-

FWOOSH.

The door of the commander's office whooshed open with a broad motion of my arm, and with my heavy exhales and inhales that made me sound like a marathon runner with severe asthma, I was greeted by silent gazes. The commander let out a breath and reclined back in his chair, with three other agents standing around where he was so stationed. After a few seconds, one of the agents had a look of pure disgust on his face towards my desperation and panic.

"Oh do not tell me this is him." The black hedgehog folded his arms, rolling his eyes and letting out a sigh. "I hated this idea to begin with, Tower," he grumbled, "But I thought you would at least get someone who can tell time."

He felt the need to kick me when I was down, then throw a few blocks of tomato soup at my head for good measure. My eyes stung, but they were familiar with it.

"I dunno," the bat hummed, brushing off some invisible dirt particles from my shoulder. "He looks sharp, at least. Fashionably late."

It was 11:32, and, somehow, the compliment was alleviating. In no way did I look sharp, but in every way did I appear incompetent to Shadow the Hedgehog. As Rouge winked at me, Shadow's eyes were narrowed.

The bulky robot accompanying them clopped to me, standing before me and scanning me. His red lights shot out lasers that almost blinded me, and, ignoring my wince, let the lasers trail the tip of my newsboy cap to the ends of my ratty sneakers that I had no time to tie.

"Procyon lotor, raccoon of Mobian descent and Westopolis origin," the robot relayed, my eyes watering from the sting of the sudden lights. "IQ of approximately 140. Two minutes, eleven seconds, and point seven seven milliseconds tardy as of 11:32.77, giving procyon lotor the rank of 'meatbag.''"

E-123 Omega chucked a brick, too. Rouge just seemed entertained.

After a second or two of silence, I stood erect, turned to the commander and stuttered my apology. Before I could even properly construct a sentence, the commander silently raised his palm; I immediately stopped with any pitiful excuse my depressing self had to make.

"No need to explain yourself," the commander bluntly stated, "You're fine."

Shadow huffed, as I leaned back on my heels.

I sighed in the hopes of making another sentence; thank everything I was cut off again.

"Don't apologize again. For now," the commander noted, "Two minutes late isn't so fatal."

I nodded, gripping onto the strap of my satchel. The commander nodded as well as a response.

"Now," The commander stood up from his seat and walked around his desk. I glanced around, nothing the plain, beige walls that had just a few degrees and official licenses adorned on them; it was difficult to believe this man and the man who plastered his bright red walls with photography and other fantastical work were the same man. He gestured at his agents with, "I was just telling my agents about you and what you shall be doing with them. Joining them on and off the field, writing of their experiences, asking for needed information, et cetera. Again, you may have heard of them, but they shall introduce themselves all the same."

Rouge the Bat nodded, chirping while extending her hand, "The name is Rouge, treasure hunter and spy. I've been here for a little while, and I suppose you could say I very much know my way around. I get our cases and gain sources to help solve them. And when I get bored," she winked again as I shook her hand, "I become the culprit of the case."

Omega, then, decided to take the floor.

"E-123 Omega, formerly part of the E-100 series created by mastermind Dr. Ivo Robotnik. Artillery of the 'Team Dark' squadron of the Guardian Unit of Nations, equipped with forty-seven brands of firearm." The robot, with the whirring of gears, made an alternate arm appear, going from its claw hand to a perched torpedo. I made the executive decision not to shake its hand. "I eradicate whatever shall stand in our way, including Robotnik. Pray you do not acquire the same status, meatbag."

I gulped and shakily nodded, and I then turned to Shadow.

"You know who I am." he greeted me with irrepressible salutation. I couldn't even be offended, since I knew that, with him, it could be so much worse.

"Well, now that you're...well-acquainted," the commander gave Shadow a furled brow, with Shadow responding with a growl. "It's time that I shall go over your regulations."

I nodded and agreed that it was time...

One more syllable and Shadow would eat me for breakfast; I could feel it.

"Three things." The commander began. "One, I will ask for a review of your writing at the end of every week. Shadow will look over periodically as well. If he and/or I decide that your writing on a particular subject matter is unfit, we will ask you to delete the particular passage in question. If you fail to do so, I solely have the right to ask you the leave the agency,"

"Two, do NOT get in the way of any of these three agents on the field. They are trained vigilantes, and you are not. Don't help them, no matter what condition they may be in; you would be at the risk of endangering both them and yourself even further. You will be equipped by them with a handgun and switchblade, both of which belong to the agency and may only be used in moments of self-defense, should something arise,"

"And, finally, and this is the most important detail of all," the commander leaned in, stating in a far more serious tone than what he already had, "The archives are absolutely off-limits to you. Do not share what you see or experience with anyone else during or after the process of writing this story, especially not without our consent. We are giving you much liberty already writing this story. And if I hear you going through the archives or discussing what you have found with an outside civilian, not only will you be kicked off of your project," he almost rasped in a bitter, overtly stern tone, "But I will make sure that you will be arrested within a matter of minutes of the discovery. You will be charged with so many federal offenses that you won't even be able to write them all down within the page span of a dictionary. I will not put the trust and privacy of my agency and its agents under your project. Are we clear?"

With a bitten lip, I nodded silently. Daggers. Shaking. He nodded in response.

"Alright," he leaned back, sitting back down and waving towards the exit with, "Dismissed."

The four of us nodded as I was pushed out the door. No one said a word as the elevator opened. All that was said within a span of minutes was, "It's okay, hun. He does that to scare you. I haven't been taken around back once and I read through the agency's deep web for entertainment as part of my Tuesday ritual. He says that to everyone."

"However," Omega countered with the door opening again, revealing the first floor. "It is unwise for you to experiment, meatbag."

With a pat on my back, Rouge cheerily exclaimed, "The political tension in that room made me peckish. Let's go get lunch!"

She lead the way, with Omega following close behind. As I followed, a hand grasped my shoulder. Turning around, I was faced by Shadow's stern gaze.

I stuttered, but he pursed my lips shut with a single index finger.

"Don't you dare get in the way of my partners, and I better not find you in my way."

Try to make a sen-

"Don't speak."

Nod. Nod. Okay, don't make a sentence. Ever. Ever again.

"I don't care what the commander says about solely him having the right of kicking you out; I care about the safety and reputation of my team-mates. I don't want you here, but because of his orders, you'll be staying with us for now," he continued in a low growl, "But if you do one moronic thing, pull one more stunt as incompetent as the one this morning," he pulled me in closer by a tug of the collar, "I will see to it that you're gone. I'll make it look like an accident flawlessly. Now. Are we square?"

Don't even say a thing.

He took a tighter grip.

"Are. We. Square?"

I quickly nodded with a whimper, and he thrust me back. He walked ahead of me, and all I could do was wonder how many breaths I had to exhale just to be turned into oblivion within these doors.


	3. The Quick Lie

"So you're actually gonna do it, eh?"

I nodded to my editor, Mr. Komodo, as I felt that, with all the smoke in the room, I needed a gas mask. A foghorn, perhaps. Through the thick, grey haze, I saw him lean back in his office chair, legs propped up on his desk. With a lax motion and minimal care, he flicked his cigar, letting some ash hit the carpet tile. I let out a cough while my editor smirked.

I figured he always liked it when people found it hard to breathe around him like this. Added onto the fear he instilled in his aspirers.

"Wow," he blew out some more smoke that danced from his scaly lips and intertwined with the poisonous atmosphere. I was rocking on my heels, ready to leave, but I figured I wouldn't anytime soon. "The fact you actually had the gall to write that letter is astonishing, let alone the fact that he said yes to yer desperate plea."

Of course, I was shocked myself.

"So," he drew in his cigar, embers fuming with a single orange glow. It was the brightest thing in the room. "I'm gettin' this story in…"

I clarified my due date.

"One month, huh?"

Nod. He let out a grumble after another draw.

"Better not screw it up, Sterling, like what many have done in the past," Komodo grumbled, with his mouth churning raw tobacco fumes. "Ya better prove to me you aren't just another dreamer. Thatcha know what yer doin'. Yer style is somethin' else, but everyone's writing is someone else. Everyone's different. Different beliefs, ideas. What makes you so special? There have kids who have followed the damn President around and traveled all over the globe. Got nothin'. Ya think ya will?"

I was different from everyone else in the press. I had to make that much clear to him. And I knew I would.

"Ya never talk to anyone here." Draw. Cough from me, silence from him. "Hell, ya never talk at all. Why is that?"

What I had to say, as the commander said, I wrote down. He already knew my answers. He didn't need to talk to me at all. He realized that.

I knew he would.

"Hmph. Never mind. But what I'm sayin'," he sighed, rolling his eyes and once more flicking his cigar, "Is that people here…don't take anything ya do that seriously. Yer a rookie to them. A creepy, silent rookie with nothing terribly special about him and nonexistent charisma. Do ya realize that? And…well, neither do I. That's why I'm surprised you actually got in with GUN."

Understandable. I ate lunch alone. I never did a collaboration. I went straight home after work and only watched co-journalists flick their cigarettes outside, never once thinking of joining them in their banter about the weather or their projects or tabloid headliners. They would stare back and scoff, finding another corner to wallow with glee in. I had to write. I had no time for anything else at Opal.

"But I digress," the komodo dragon stuck his tongue in a corner of his mouth and shrugged with, "If this happens to be a hit, you'll prove us all wrong. People eat political inside scoops and federal tensions fer breakfast. You'd have somethin' life-changin' on yer hands. But if nothin' bites," he shrugged again, rolling his eyes back to me. "This business'll spit ya right out. Got it?"

Nod. My best response to anything.

"'Kay, then. Life or death, kid."

Do or die.

I will write it.

"Wow me with your skill, not your actions."

Why not both?

I will do it.

I will write it.

I will do it. Whatever it took to get the best story. To prove him wrong. I had promise. So much promise. My fate couldn't be sealed so quickly, he would realize.

"Get started, then." Dubbing his cigar, he gestured me out of his office.

I promised him he would never forget me, no matter what I did.

No one would.

And he then pushed me into the depths below.

(*)

 _"Oh. My. God. Becky is getting on my LAST nerve. If she gets in my way again, I'm gonna [bleep] the [bleep] out of her sorry [bleep] in the middle of this [bleep] pool party."_

The TV, in high-definition, displayed one of the several downfalls of society before Rouge and I as she was finishing some left-overs from lunch. It was seven in the evening, and the "Sisters of Soleanna" made me want to go get tortured via waterboarding; I would suffer less.

"So how did your meeting with your editor go, hun?" Rouge hummed as she fiddled her chopsticks in a white, paper box filled with stir fry. They were leftovers from earlier that day. My first meal with them.

It was an interesting one.

Rouge got stir fry and some orange chicken. Omega got nothing, of course. Shadow took an occasional bite of a California roll, taking a glance at me every other minute to make sure I didn't blow up our table or eat my lo mein incorrectly. The one time I slurped my noodles, he flicked his head over in my direction with eyes glinting with hatred; my joints turned into noodles and I forgot how to drink water again, spilling it all over myself at one point. Rouge would snicker every now and again at both how much Shadow intimidated me and how on-edge Shadow actually was.

"Oh, Shadow, don't scare the kid too much," she would comment, "You've barely eaten. Your sushi's getting cold."

With a growl, Shadow went back to his meal, while I would all too hesitantly go right back to mine and dab at my soggy apparel. I excused myself within twenty minutes, as I had to meet my editor and tell him the news. Or escape. Either or.

I had to have, at maximum, ninety more meals with that hedgehog. I didn't know if my stomach, (or his patience,) could take even one more.

I told her it went fine. Not terribly much was said…by me, anyway. She nodded.

"Shadow should be back in a few, same with Omega," Rouge commented, "He's picking up your little tools of self-defense along with some other things the commander wanted you to have. Omega followed him."

It was just the two of us in that apartment. I stopped to grab a few belongings from my apartment on my way to theirs, and my satchel was stuffed full with them. Ragged clothes, a notebook, pencil case, rings. There was also the laptop charging silently in the far corner of the living room, whirring quietly as its green light blinked sporadically, charger tangled and gnawed by the pests that accompanied me in my abode.

"Tell me. Is it exciting?" she inquired, fishing for a piece of broccoli. "Being a journalist."

I shrugged. If by exciting she meant ruthless and more likely to cause aneurysms and lung cancer via being twenty feet near the editor, then sure. I tapped my foot against the dingy wooden floor.

"As an agent," she chuckled, grabbing onto the piece she dug for. "I can safely say that my job's pretty riveting. The adventure, the scandal, the crazy people who want to blow up the world or rob a jewelry store for fun," she glanced at the broccoli, and after gulping it down, she finished with, "It's fascinating. You'll have your fun here…everyone does."

Crossed-legged on their couch, I sat perfectly still, even when Rouge was reclined with her feet touching my side. She didn't glance at me when I asked her if I would last.

"Mm," she hummed in thought, "Sure. You seem okay. And if you ask because of Shadow, don't worry. It'll take him a while to get used to a new person, even if they're temporary," She was finished with her meal, twirling one of the chopsticks between her middle and index fingers while placing the empty box on the generic table in front of us. "He's not one for change, you see. Or, at least, not right away. Give him time, and you'll live."

I looked around the apartment, and there wasn't much all too special about it. If anything, it was similar to my own, only a bit bigger and slightly less depressing; the ceiling fan was rather clean, for instance. Everything about it was clean-cut, with the exception of the floor, which had a large stain that trailed from the couch. Soaked-in beer, Rouge said.

A TV was in front of us, and it was still playing that show, which, even though it was Rouge's choice, she was barely paying attention to it. At that moment, one of the girls was throwing another into a pool and everyone at the party, (who was either uneducated or insatiably drunk,) was screaming incomprehensible slurs; my stomach churned while watching it, as I remembered how everyone who played a role in producing this garbage was paid more than I was, from the girl who threw "Becky" into the water by the hair to the guy who picked out what color heels she was going to wear with her swimsuit.

Right by it, there was a window, displaying the sunset going over Station Square. A block away, I could see the GUN logo plastered on the elegant domed building I scrambled to that morning, and way farther back, I could point out Opal, the square billboard atop of a sad, grey block of windows and cement cascading with multiple colors and faux artistry in the title of the press.

My sight was quickly directed to the exit, however, as I heard the door swing open and slam against the plaster. Rouge's ears pricked up, eyes widening as she placed her chopsticks down and stood up to find Shadow storming in. Omega wasn't with him, and the hedgehog looked too stern to be off-duty.

"Shadow-" Rouge watched as Shadow zoomed around to their kitchen, which was a very small corner of the living space, and swung open one of the cabinets. My handgun, switch-blade, and a few papers were strewn across their counter.

"Date's over." he huffed.

"What are you-"

"Turn the TV to Channel 7," Shadow cut Rouge off, pulling an AK-47 out of their cabinet. Why and how they had it was no mystery to me, as Shadow straddled it over his shoulder and demanded, "Now."

Rouge whirled back towards the TV, now positioned fully facing it, and clicked the number seven on the remote. The local news.

 _"-nd it looks like this man isn't going to let these people go until he gets the five hundred thousand like he asked for, Bob."_

No one spoke, and the only person who was making any noise was Shadow, who grabbed some ammo from the utensil drawer and began loading his weapon of choice. The peacock reporting was standing a hundred feet away from a stopped city bus. It was lit on the inside, so it was easy to see the panicked faces of the passengers on board. In front of the bus was a man in all black with a human at gunpoint kneeled on the ground and begging to any deity that would listen.

"When did this start?" Rouge asked, not budging.

"Five minutes ago. Omega and I saw it on our way back here, but we can't do anything without our entire squad, as per protocol." Shadow explained to Rouge, who already knew, and to me, who barely knew much of value to him. He turned to the door, stating, "Come on, Rouge."

 _"Every thirty minutes, he says he'll be shooting one of forty-eight passengers, and he'll be doing this until there are none left or until his demands are met by the United Federation."_

Rouge stopped midway to the door and asked, "Wait a minute, what about newsboy?"

Shadow huffed, turning to her with, "What about him?"

"Is he not coming with us?"

"Why the hell would he?" he huffed, raising a brow. "He'll only get in the way!"

Rouge rolled her eyes, going around the counter and pulling out a belt with little silver spheres attached to them. They had a pink heart stamped on them individually. Bombs.

"Are you going to say that every time we have a mission?" Rouge snapped, "Because the commander wouldn't be all too pleased with that."

"Lives are at stake! The last thing we need is to have his at stake too! Omega's already waiting for us down at the bike and you heard the reporter. We need to go back there NOW."

"He's with us, Shadow," Rouge shrugged her shoulders with, "His life is at stake anyway. Let him come along so, if anything, he can get his job done faster and the commander won't have to ask why he hasn't started a week or so from now after forty missions we'll have just like this one."

Baring his teeth, Shadow groaned, gliding out the door with, "Grab the handgun on the counter and follow us. Stay. Behind us."

Rouge turned to me, winking, and asked, "You ready for your first mission?"

I hastily grabbed the handgun with a bitten lip and followed them out the door as my response.

It wasn't the first lie I had told that day.


	4. The Deadening Truth

He always laughed at me whenever I talked about my dreams like this.

"Sooooo," the human boy drawled, sloshing around the bottle of brandy that I was disgusted with, "When ya become this famous writer, will ya write about me too?"

I nodded to only appease him. He swished around another gulp of brandy. My roommate was always really sloppy. Papers strewn about, doodles all over them, report cards embellished with his failures donning on his parents' refrigerator somewhere in this damned world. He was the only "friend" I had the academy, the world for that matter.

He flung his head back to laugh, only to flip over the rolling chair he perched himself on. His life was unbalanced, troubled. I couldn't help but sputter at my association with him.

My only friend. I didn't even remember his name after he graduated years ahead of me.

I didn't think much of it at the time.

(*)

I sputtered as I flew.

Bugs made their way to my esophagus as we sped around corners and through intersections, with the siren light on the front of Shadow's motorcycle blaring profusely. I was sitting in front of Omega in the side-car, and with the wind slapping against my cheeks and a new pest splatting against my eyelids and teeth with every sharp curve Shadow made, the experience was nothing short of hell itself.

"May wanna get used to this, newsboy!" Rouge chirped, straddling herself by wrapping her arms around Shadow's waist, her voice trying to go above the whistling wind, revving engine, and blaring siren, "You don't know how many more times you'll be in that side-car in the next few hours!"

"You will, overtime, find this position to be within your level of comfort and convenience," Omega retorted, and I found much difficulty in turning my head against the wind. When I did, I saw the robot's head smothered by insect carcasses. I winced as the robot finished with, "If only your stomach was not as weak as your judgement, meat-bag."

We came to a screeching halt to meet fellow squads who most likely had smoother commutes to the scene in action. Parked cars littered this broken road, belonging to brittle citizens and hardened officers ready to strike.

Agents positioned by their vehicles and behind their leaders, holding their weapons of choice against the adversary, who still held the same civilian at-

BANG.

With a thud, the captive passenger fell to the ground almost right after we pulled behind the crowd, prayers unrealized. Screams echoed through passerby that were held back by agents and a few of the local authorities, and to my right, I saw that same wide-eyed news anchor, who whispered to the sickened camera man, "My Gaia…did…did you catch that, Jim?"

Seeing the dead human on the asphalt, Shadow jumped off of his motorcycle rifle at hand. Omega slid out of the side-car, making the bike sway free of his weight. Rouge put on the brake. Somehow, she seemed unphased, but seeing the splattered insect, I was close to vomiting myself.

Shadow pushed through the crowd, even shoving a few of his own fellow agents aside.

"Damn you!" he bellowed, teeth bared. He was thirty feet away from the masked man, now, and still shoveling through the barrier of agents. "Is it worth five hundred thousand rings to kill a stranger on a bus? Is it?!"

The bus jacker, with a sneer, stepped onto the bus only to drag another passenger out. This time, it was a young girl, who responded to this verdict with a howl and tears. She had a stuffed rabbit with her, clinging it to her chest like it was her escaping heart. She was pushed to this ground, with the masked man yelling, "Thirty minutes, President Johnsen! Thirty! You hear me?!"

Rouge stood up from the bike, ascending with her wings and holding the string of bombs in her hands. She was ten feet above me, while I tried to peek over the crowd without moving from the side-car. She peered down, appearing to be floating.

"Stay here, newsboy…" She glided above the ground, silently hovering above the unfolding scene. I had no idea where Shadow was, but I turned to my right and looked up; Omega was perched atop a balcony of an abandoned building, his gun-hand pointing directly at the jacker. "We'll give you material to write about afterwards…"

Through slivers of space, I was able to see Shadow. He was enraged.

He was ready to kill us all.

"Stop right there!"

The masked man, for the first time, looked at him, craning his head over and keeping the girl at gunpoint; the girl was in a ball, hiding her rabbit against her stomach as if the rabbit was about to be flooding against the ground. She shut her eyes at the man whose leaking brain let rivers flow around her blue dress. Shadow pulled up his badge.

"I am Squad Leader Shadow the Hedgehog from the Guardian Unit of Nations!" the hedgehog barked, perching up his rifle towards the man's head, "And we have you surrounded! There is no way in hell you're getting out of this alive, so you better back down while you're ahead."

The man smirked.

"Let her go."

The girl whimpered.

"Now."

The gun clicked.

"Don't make me say it again…"

Finger on the trigger…

And thumb on the button.

Shadow gasped, dropping his gun and holding his hands up. His shock pervaded through the rest of the crowd, and the anchor stood by his camera-man at this point, who kept rolling despite hunching over in horror. The anchor stuttered, "W-What the hell is that? Why did he-"

"A bomb." I heard Omega state bluntly to no one in particular. "What else could it be?"

There was a moment everyone shared at that moment.

The feeling of agonizing helplessness.

In his left hand, he held the girl at gunpoint, and in his right, he held the fate of all on the bus.

"I wouldn't pick that gun back up if I were you," the young, troublesome man snickered, peering upward to see Rouge with a small, silver ball in her hand. She quivered. I then looked towards my direction to find Omega positioning a rifle, and the robot froze, knowing his directive was to not let anyone else die. "As my fate will match the people on that bus…and hers."

The girl shook when she saw the agents that tried to free her.

He didn't see me. I wasn't an agent he could grip in his hands around.

"You know what? I change my mind…" the mask man teased, "Let's make it a million, Mr. President."

Winces and screams were all to be heard, along with cries of outrage.

"Stop it! What the hell are you gonna do with a million rings?!"

"Come on, pres! Just pay him! End it already!"

"Does he even know about this?"

"Of course he does! It's on the news now…"

I saw every member of Team Dark freeze at that same moment, all looking at forty still-living passengers not ready for death, beating on the glass, trying to rock the bus on its side to reveal the brightly-colored wiring underneath and hoping that someone in the helpless crowd knew which ones to cut.

The stale-mate was stagnating. I looked down at my watch.

Ten minutes have already passed.

"Five minutes left!" the masked man guffawed, throwing out his time limit as well. His eyes, which, along with his scornful smile, were the only visible things about him, and they glinted with the hatred we all had for him. He knew everyone in the crowd, along with the outrage.

I wasn't in the crowd.

My mind became a battleground between my desires and my own conscious. I didn't know how to kill a man, what was I thinking?! At the same time, he knew how to kill forty at the exact same time without a cinch, and it seemed all too easy. Someone was going to die within five minutes.

This wasn't right, none of it was. I was told to stay behind, and it was the only way I could even begin writing this opus, and yet, everyone was doing as much as I was told to do: nothing. I had to go. He didn't see me. I never made contact.

My finger hooked, limped around the trigger, resting around the metallic tooth of the mouth of death. Eye twitching, I silently tip-toed through a sliver in the crowd.

The handgun quivered ever so in my palm, and I had to grip my other hand to stay still. Turning his head, Shadow saw me without a sound. He made no command nor sarcastic remark, as he flicked his head back to the masked human before him ready to murder for a quick and hearty paycheck. My handgun glinted and a few gasped, yet didn't make another sound a second later.

The captor was my target, and I was the only one he didn't see.

He didn't see me.

He didn't see me for the moment that counted.

It was sloppy, but it counted.

He splattered across the pavement.

Bang.

Insect.

"And so…you were the one that killed him?"

I nodded, gripping my palms and staring down at the endless floor. I rubbed my feet against the tiling in the hopes of matching the tension in the room. Rouge was back with the girl and her mother to serve as a comforter, with Omega to join her. Shadow stood in a corner of the room, pacing back and forth without a word. The commander leaned back. My eyes stung again.

It was two in the morning, and we had to report right back here as soon as the word spread of who brought the kidnapping to a screeching halt. It was the journalist that wasn't even a journalist. Agents that were there knew me now. I was known by crowds.

"You."

Me.

Killing a man. An insect. Still feeling small carcasses of pests tangled in my hair and my heart attempting to break out, I was wheezing with disgust in myself. It had to be done, I tried to convince myself. Someone was going to do it. Someone had to.

"You completely disobeyed my orders, along with the orders of my agents."

I couldn't even argue. The commander was right, raising his voice and tapping his fingers against his desk in disbelief.

"You were told to stay behind, and instead, you killed a man."

"A man who was about to kill forty more people for a million rings he was never going to get."

Shadow stood behind my chair, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes towards the commander.

"He could have gotten you all in even more danger than you were already in. The shot was barely fatal, he appeared as a civilian, he had no bullet-proof anything and he shouldn't have needed it…" the commander reiterated, holding the summary of the fiasco in his hands; news flew into this agency faster than the speed of light. He slammed down the manila folder. "The unsub could have murdered him and you three in a second. He saw your squad and had you in his hands."

"So what?" Shadow huffed, "No one else could have really done anything. Should we have let him kill that girl and everyone on that bus?"

"No," the commander replied, "But there were better ways to go about it."

"Of course there were, but they're not important," Shadow gestured at me with, "He killed that man, and that was the mission. Those people are saved now, and whether either one of us like it or not, it's thanks to him."

I didn't look at either one of them. I couldn't.

"I want him away from this agency."

"Why? Because he saved the lives of many and pissed a little on the reputation of one?"

"YOU-" the commander banged his fist on the table, and the hedgehog huffed.

"Look, if you're rattled, think of what he is," Shadow gestured at me again, and at that moment, I realized he didn't look at me once. "He is just a journalist. He only came to write a story, not kill a man and put people in danger just by existing. Leave him and his story be."

"Why…" the commander sputtered. "Why are you defending him all of a sudden?"

"Why did you let him do this project and damn him for something like this from the beginning? You should have considered what would happen if he decided to follow his instinct on the field; you taught us all to solely trust instinct, and that's what he did," the hedgehog retorted, giving me a gesture to get up. He headed towards the door, stating, "I will give him tighter restraint. I won't let him come with us on any more missions, but I and my teammates will show him what to write so he will be out of your hair as fast as possible. He did save us and the innocent civilians on that bus. If anything…" Before he closed the door, Shadow coldly remarked to the commander, "You should be thanking him."

The close became a slam as Shadow grumbled with rage tinging his voice, "Let's go."

He quickly marched out of the hallway, growling and clenching his fists as he clopped down the stairwell. Floor after floor felt slower and slower a trek, and I felt we couldn't leave sooner. I was actually amazed by how Shadow, for five minutes, became my defense attorney and won my case.

The question was if I wanted the victory at this point.

I saw Rouge walk out of a conference room with the young woman and her daughter, whose stuffed rabbit was now covered with blood. Omega patted her on the head, and she smiled. She saw Shadow and I on the last stair of that floor and laughed, running towards us.

Towards me.

The bottom of her dress and her stockings were dyed red, but her bright blue eyes lit with life as she held her rabbit towards me.

"Thank you so much!" her eyes watered, with her squeaky voice bouncing with relief and innocence. "Here! Take Jingles. He means the world to me, and it's the least I can do for you saving me and my mommy!"

I held the stuffed rabbit in my hands, shaking it a little a hearing faint sleigh bells. I thanked her, and Rouge nodded at Shadow to assure that everyone was okay now, with the mother and daughter being escorted by Omega downstairs.

"The other civilians on the bus have been taken home or to questioning by the other agents on the scene. Everyone else besides that man is alive. How…" she whispered to him, "How did it go?"

Shadow rolled his eyes and shook his head, leading the way down the stairs.

"I will tell you once you come back to the apartment." Shadow answered, and Rouge nodded, disappearing back into the conference room.

And when I laid on their couch with a single blanket over me and gazed into the ceiling, the hedgehog asked, "How are you feeling?"

I could have said sickened, as my stomach rolled over and played dead.

But, truthfully…I couldn't have felt more alive.

I really wanted it all.


End file.
